Play Dirty

CHAPTER 15

GRIFF HEARD THE DOORBELL CHIME INSIDE THE HOUSE AND then approaching footsteps. His gut tightened with apprehension over how he would be greeted. Maybe with the door slammed in his face.

Was coming here a bad idea?

Too late to change his mind now. Because the door was pulled open and he was looking into Ellie Miller’s smiling face.

He waited in dread to see her smile dissolve. Instead, it brightened. “Griff!”

She looked ready to launch herself against him and give him a big hug but checked the impulse and instead reached across the threshold and grabbed his hand with a strength surprising for a woman so petite. She looked him over from head to toe. “You’re thinner.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of swimming, less weights.”

She hadn’t stopped smiling yet. “Come in, come in, we’re standing here letting cold air out, and our electric bill is sky-high as it is.”

He stepped into the house and was instantly enveloped in its familiar scents and sights and textures. He paused to take a look around. The hall tree was where it had always been. The wallpaper hadn’t changed. The framed mirror, which to him had always seemed a little too small for that particular spot, was still there.

“I replaced the living room carpet last year.”

“It’s nice.”

Beyond the carpet, everything was exactly as it had been the last time he was here. Except that the picture of the three of them was no longer on the end table. The photo had been taken minutes after the NCAA national championship victory, he still in his grass- and bloodstained jersey, hair matted down by sweat and the weight of his helmet, standing between Ellie and Coach. Three beaming smiles. Ellie had had the picture framed and prominently displayed within days of the game.

The Millers had never been happier or more proud of him than after that Orange Bowl victory, except maybe the day he signed his letter of intent with the University of Texas. That day this house had been filled to capacity with sportswriters from all over the state. Ellie had fussed over the mess they were making, dropping cookie crumbs and spilling punch. Coach had complained when the TV lights blew out a fuse.

But their grumbling wasn’t taken seriously. It was obvious to everyone there that the couple was bursting with pride over Griff. Not only had he been offered a full scholarship to play football for the university but he was graduating cum laude from high school. Coach’s decision to take him in had been validated. His investment in that recalcitrant fifteen-year-old had paid off, and in ways beyond Griff’s athletic ability.

The four years Griff had played for UT, he was coached by some of the most respected and knowledgeable men in the game. But he still had relied on Coach Miller’s advice. He took everything he’d learned from Coach into that Orange Bowl game with him. It was Coach’s triumph as much as his.

It was later, after signing on with the Cowboys, that Griff stopped listening to his mentor’s advice and started thinking of Coach as a nuisance rather than a sensible guiding hand. The absence of that framed photo on the living room end table spoke volumes about Coach’s feelings toward him now.

“Come on back,” Ellie said, shooing him into the kitchen. “I’m shelling peas. You can buy them already shelled, but they don’t taste as good to me. Want some iced tea?”

“Please.”

“Pound cake?”

“If you’ve got it.”

She frowned at him as though her not having pound cake on hand would happen the day hell froze over. She cleared her pea-shelling project off the kitchen table. He sat down in the chair that had been designated his after his first dinner here and was embarrassed by the unmanly nostalgia that made his throat seize up. This was the only real home he’d ever known. And he’d brought disgrace to it.

“Coach isn’t here?”

“He’s playing golf,” Ellie said with vexation. “I told him it was too blamed hot to play at this time of day, but he hasn’t grown any less hardheaded. In fact, he just gets worse.”

She served the tea and pound cake, and sat down across from him, clasping her hands on the table. He looked at those tiny hands, remembering the bright yellow rubber gloves she’d had on the day he moved in and recalling one of the rare times he hadn’t avoided her touch. He’d had the flu. Sitting on the edge of his bed, she’d laid her palm against his forehead, testing it for fever. Her hand had been soft and cool, and to this day he remembered how good it had felt against his burning skin. To her it had been an instinctual thing to do, but until then, Griff hadn’t known that was what moms did when children complained of feeling sick.

Ellie and Coach had never had children. The reason for that was never explained to him, and even as a teenager he’d had the sensitivity not to ask. Maybe her childlessness had factored into her welcoming that surly and sarcastic boy into her home.

She hadn’t smothered him with motherly affection, which she’d sensed, correctly, that he would have rejected. But with the merest signal from him, she made herself available. She would lend an ear if he wanted to talk through a problem. In a thousand small and subtle ways she had demonstrated the maternal tenderness she obviously felt for him. He could see it in her eyes now.

“It’s good to see you, Ellie. Good to be here.”

“I’m so glad you came. Did you get my letters?”

“Yes, and I appreciated them. More than you know.”

“Why didn’t you write back?”

“I couldn’t find the words. I-” He shrugged helplessly. “I just couldn’t, Ellie. And I didn’t want to cause a rift between Coach and you. He didn’t know you wrote to me, did he?”

She sat up straighter and said smartly, “It’s not up to him what I do or don’t do. I make up my own mind about things.”

Griff smiled. “I know you do, but I also know you support Coach. The two of you are a team.”

She had the grace not to argue that.

“I knew how pissed he was,” Griff said. “He tried to warn me against setting myself up for a big fall. I didn’t listen.”

He distinctly remembered the day that their steadily declining relationship was finally severed. Coach had been waiting for him at his car after practice. The Cowboys’ coaching staff knew Coach Miller well, knew how influential he’d been on their starting quarterback, and always welcomed seeing him.

Griff didn’t. Their conversations had grown increasingly contentious. Coach had no quarrel with his performance on the football field, but he didn’t approve of much else, such as the rate at which Griff went through money.

Griff wanted to know the point of having it if you couldn’t spend it. “You’d be wise to put aside some for a rainy day,” Coach told him. Griff ignored the advice.

Coach also disapproved of the pace of his life. He cautioned Griff against burning the candle at both ends, particularly during the off-season, when he got sloppy with his workouts and kept late hours in the glossy nightclubs of Dallas and Miami, where he’d bought a beachfront condo.

“Discipline got you where you are,” Coach said. “You’ll sink fast if you don’t maintain that discipline. In fact, it should be more rigid now than before.”

Yeah, yeah, Griff thought. He figured Coach’s dissatisfaction was based on jealousy. He no longer had control over the decisions Griff made or the way he lived his life, and that rankled the older man. While Griff appreciated everything Coach had done for him, he was old school in his thinking. His strict lessons no longer applied. Coach had got him where he was, but now that he was here, it was time to cut the apron strings.

Griff began distancing himself. Their visits became less frequent. He rarely returned his mentor’s phone calls. So he wasn’t happy to see Coach that day he ambushed Griff at his car. With his typical tactlessness, Coach came straight to the point. “I’m worried about your new associates.”

“‘New associates’?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Griff.”

He could only have been talking about the Vista boys, and Griff wondered how Coach knew about them. But then, he’d rarely been able to sneak something past the man. Coach’s vigilance had been a pain in the butt when Griff was a teenager. It was a bigger pain now that he was a grown-up. “You’re the one always harping on me to make friends. I’ve made some friends. Now you don’t like them.”

“I don’t like you getting too friendly with these guys.”

“Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“In my view, they’re a little too shiny.”

Griff guffawed. “‘Shiny’?”

“Slick. Slippery. I don’t trust them. You should check them out.”

“I don’t snoop on my friends.” Looking Coach straight in the eye, he said what he hoped would end the discussion. “I don’t go poking my nose into other people’s business.”

Coach didn’t take the hint. “Make an exception. Do some snooping.”

“What for?”

“See what they’re really about. How do they pay for those fancy limos and chauffeurs?”

“They’re businessmen.”

“What’s their business?”

“A tin mine in South America.”

“Tin mine, my ass. No miner I ever knew needed a bodyguard.”

Griff had heard enough. “Look, I don’t care how they pay for the limos. I like the limos and the chauffeurs, not to mention the private jets and the pussy they get me free for the asking. So why don’t you go away and leave me the hell alone? Okay?”

Coach did just that. It was the last conversation they’d had.

Griff looked at Ellie now and shook his head sadly. “I thought I was smarter than him. Smarter than everybody. When I got caught, Coach denounced me. I didn’t blame him. I understood why he washed his hands of me.”

“You broke his heart.”

He gave her a sharp look. She nodded and repeated solemnly, “You broke his heart, Griff.” Then she laughed lightly. “Of course, he was pissed, too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably just as well he’s not here. If he was, I doubt I’d have been invited in for cake.”

“Honestly, I doubt it, too.”

“I knew I took a chance by coming.”

“Why did you? I’m delighted. But why did you come?”

He left the table and moved to the counter. He took a black-eyed pea from the brown paper sack, held the pod between his thumbs and split it open, then shook the peas into the stainless steel bowl. He tossed the empty pod back into the sack.

“I keep hurting people, and I don’t want to.”

“Then stop doing it.”

“I don’t mean to. I just do.”

“How?”

“Just by being me, Ellie. Just by being me.” He turned and rested his hips against the counter, crossed his ankles, folded his arms over his chest, and studied the toes of his boots. They needed another shine. “I’m destructive. It seems to be the curse of my life.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

His head came up, and he looked across at her.

“Stop crying in your beer and tell me what’s going on. Who’s been hurt?”

“An acquaintance. She was hurt bad on account of me. No other reason, just because of her association with me.”

“I’m sorry for that, but it doesn’t sound like it was your fault.”

“Feels like it was. It goes back to…” He gestured as though saying, back then. “There’s this guy. Ever since my release, he’s been right here,” he said, holding his palm inches from his nose. “He’s got it in for me, and he’s not going to go away until I’m dust under his heel.”

Griff had kept one eye on his rearview mirror the whole time he’d been driving here. He’d taken a circuitous route, too, doubling back several times, to make certain he wasn’t being tailed by either Rodarte or somebody Rodarte had hired to follow him.

Of course Rodarte would know where the Millers lived. If he’d wanted to get to Griff by harming them, he would have done so. Griff supposed Rodarte didn’t consider Coach as vulnerable as Marcia. The idea of coming up against Coach might even scare him. And it should.

“Are you in trouble, Griff?”

He knew she was asking if he was involved in something illegal again. “No. I swear it.”

“I believe you. So go to the authorities and tell them about this person who’s hounding you and-”

“I can’t, Ellie.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not acting strictly on his own.”

“You mean-”

“ Vista. The same men Coach called slippery, and he didn’t know the half of it.”

“Then you certainly need to talk to the authorities.”

He shook his head, thinking back to what he’d resolved yesterday as he left Marcia’s penthouse. “I’ve been up to my eyebrows in the ‘authorities’ for the past five years. I don’t want anything to do with the authorities.”

He couldn’t report Rodarte’s crime without bringing a lot of shit down on himself and Marcia. The hell of it was, their silence gave Rodarte protection and room to maneuver. Rodarte could make a real menace of himself, and Griff was hamstrung.

“But the police or the FBI need to know if-”

“I no longer trust the system, Ellie. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. I’ve formed a good relationship with my probation officer. I think he’s on my side. I want to stay under the radar, do nothing that would call attention to me.”

“And to that murder.”

“And to that murder,” he admitted.

“They never caught the person who killed that Bandy character, did they?”

“No, they never did.”

The silence became dense, stretched out. She didn’t come right out and ask. She didn’t want to insult him by asking. Or maybe she didn’t want to hear the answer. She took a sip of tea, returning the glass to the table with more care than necessary.

“You can’t live your life dodging the bad guys, Griff. You’ll just have to ignore them.”

“I’ve tried. It’s not that easy. In fact, it’s impossible. Ignoring them only makes them more determined to get my attention. And they’ll use other people to do it, to bend me to their way of thinking. I won’t play with them, Ellie. I won’t break the law again. But I don’t want other people getting hurt.”

Specifically, the Speakmans. If Rodarte found out about Griff’s deal with them, he could ruin it, and it was the only thing Griff had going. Beyond that, Rodarte could do irreparable damage to the couple’s reputation. Speakman might be as crazy as a loon, but he seemed like a decent enough guy. He was respected for his community service and for giving away barrels of money to charity.

And it made Griff queasy to think of Laura Speakman being subjected to Rodarte’s violence as Marcia had been. Given half a chance, Rodarte would hurt her and not think twice about it. He’d already noticed her, spoken of her in terms that enraged Griff.

Noticing Ellie’s look of concern, Griff relaxed his stance and smiled. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just needed a sounding board, and you’ve always been a good one.”

She got up and took his hand again. “More than anything, I want you to be happy, Griff.”

“Happy?” He repeated the word as though it was of another language. Happy seemed an unattainable goal.

“Have you got a job yet?”

“I’m looking into some things. One will open up soon.”

“In the meantime, what are you doing for money?”

“My lawyer sold all my stuff. There was a little left after he paid the fines and such. What wasn’t sold he put in a warehouse. I cleared it out a few weeks ago. Sold a few things on eBay. I’m doing okay.”

She pulled her handbag off the peg near the back door and took a fifty-dollar bill from her wallet. “Here.”

He staved her off. “Ellie, I can’t take that.”

“Yes you can. I insist. It’s part of my Hawaii money.”

“ Hawaii money?”

“After years of my pestering him about it, Joe’s finally consented to take me to Hawaii later this summer. I’ve saved some spending money. If you don’t take this, I’ll buy fifty dollars’ worth of tacky souvenirs I don’t need and will never want to look at again. Take it.”

He took it. Not because he wanted to or needed it but because she wanted to give it to him, and she needed him to accept it. “I’ll pay you back.”

They heard the car at the same time. She looked up at him, gave him a very weak smile of reassurance, and turned to face the back door as Coach came in. “Whose car-”

That was as far as he got. Seeing Griff in his kitchen stopped him in his tracks. His sparse hair had gone grayer. He’d put on maybe ten pounds, but he was still as solid as a brick wall, not fat. There were more squint lines extending from the corners of his eyes, showing up white against his perpetually sunburned face. Otherwise he looked much the same as he had the day he’d brought Griff to this house almost twenty years ago.

Griff registered all this within the span of a second, which was only as long as Coach stood still before continuing on his lumbering way through the kitchen, past the living room, and down the hall. The slamming bedroom door echoed loudly through the house.

It was a while before Ellie spoke. “I’m sorry, Griff.”

“I didn’t expect him to be glad to see me.”

“He is. He just can’t show it.”

Griff didn’t have the heart to disabuse her. “I’ve gotta go.”

She didn’t argue. At the door, she looked at him with concern. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I never got an opportunity to tell you this, but when all that happened five years ago, I hurt for you. What you did was wrong, Griff. Very wrong, and you have no excuse for doing it. But I couldn’t have hurt more for you if you’d been my own flesh and blood.”

“I know that.” His voice was dangerously rough.

“Don’t get discouraged.” She patted the back of his hand. “The best for you is yet to be. I’m certain of it.”

He didn’t disabuse her of that, either.

“Need help with that, ma’am?”

Laura turned, ready to accept the kind offer of assistance. But when she saw Griff Burkett, her smile froze in place as her eyes filled with alarm. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted the large box she was carrying out of her arms, which seemed to have gone boneless at the sight of him. “Where were you taking this?”

She continued to gape at him.

“You keep looking at me like that, you’re going to attract attention,” he said. “Where were you taking the box?”

“To my car.” She nodded in the direction of the reserved spaces in the executive parking lot, not too far from the employee entrance from which she had emerged. She glanced around nervously. Rows of cars baked beneath the blazing sun, but there was no one else around, which was why she’d been carrying the box in the first place.

The building that housed the corporate offices of SunSouth Airlines was one of Dallas ’s famed contemporary structures, built basically of glass held together by a framework of steel. So anyone looking out from this side of the building had an unrestricted view of the parking lot and could see her with him, possibly even recognize him.

However, if he hadn’t been this close, she probably couldn’t have identified him herself. He’d altered his appearance with a baseball cap and sunglasses. He had on a faded T-shirt that was nearly thread-bare, knee-length shorts with a ragged hem, and sneakers instead of cowboy boots. But his height and the width of his shoulders were impossible to disguise, although he attempted to by walking in a slouch.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated.

“I know it’s against the rules.”

“Foster would-”

“Go apeshit, I know. But it was important that I see you.”

“You could have called.”

“Would you have taken the call?”

Probably not, she thought. “Okay, you’re here. What’s so urgent? Are you backing out?”

He stopped, turned to her. “Do you want me to?”

“You left saying you didn’t need this shit, remember?”

“And you reminded me how much I do.”

They looked at each other for several seconds, then simultaneously remembered how vulnerable they were to being seen together and resumed walking in the direction of the reserved spaces.

“Which one’s yours?”

“The black BMW.”

“Hit the trunk button.”

She juggled her keys, depressed the button, and the lid of her trunk automatically opened. He lowered the cumbersome box and placed it inside. “What’s in here? For being so bulky, it’s light.”

“An airplane model. I’m taking it home.”

“To Speakman? I notice he didn’t come to work today.”

He was still bent at the waist, fiddling with the box. To a casual observer it would have looked as though he was situating it in the trunk to prevent damage during transport.

“How do you know that?”

“Because that first parking slot has his name stenciled on it, and it’s empty. I know he wasn’t here earlier because I’ve been staked out across the street-”

“Staked out?”

“At that pizza place. For hours. Watching this door, waiting for an opportunity to talk to you.”

“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until the next time we meet?”

“Will there be a next time?” He straightened up and turned to face her.

She gave a small bob of her head.

“You, uh-”

“Yes. Day before yesterday.”

“Oh.”

He just stood there.

She examined her keys.

Forever.

Then he said, “You must’ve been disappointed.”

“Of course I was. We were. Foster and I.” Drawing a quick breath, she said, “So, you and I must meet again.” Having avoided looking at him except peripherally, she tilted her head back and looked directly into the opaque lenses of his sunglasses. “Unless you resign.”

“We’ve been over that.”

“Then what’s so important that you came here?”

“I came to warn you.”

She had expected a demand for more advance money. Maybe even an apology for what he’d said to her before he left last time. But a warning? “Warn me about what?”

“A couple weeks ago. When we were together. You saw the bruises on my face?”

“And your hip.”

He tilted his head, and she knew that if she could see into his eyes they would be looking at her curiously. There was only one way she would have known about the bruises on his butt, and she’d given herself away. But to try to maneuver herself out of the blunder would only make it more awkward.

“What about the bruises?” she asked impatiently.

“I wish I could say the other guys looked worse.”

“Guys? More than one?”

“Two. I was jumped in a restaurant parking lot and beaten up. A few weeks before that, a friend of mine got it even worse.” His lips formed a hard, thin line. “Much worse. And hasn’t recovered yet.”

Laura couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What are you into?”

“Nothing!”

“You and your friend got beaten up over nothing?”

“Listen to me,” he said, bending nearer, talking quickly and softly. “It goes back to five years ago, but it has nothing to do with me now. Except that there’s this asshole who’s made it his life’s mission to ruin my life. His name is Stanley Rodarte. He drives an ugly, olive green car. If you see him, stay out of his way. Under no circumstances let him get near you while you’re alone. Are you hearing me?”

“I’m rarely alone.”

“You were just now. Look how easy it was for me to get close to you.” As though to emphasize that, he looked down at the space between them, which was less than a foot.

“I appreciate the warning,” Laura said, distancing herself, and more than just physically. “But your extracurricular activities have nothing to do with Foster and me. This Stanley whatever poses no threat to us.”

“Rodarte, and the hell he doesn’t,” he said, pushing the words out. “Listen to me. He’s dangerous. Given a chance, he would hurt you, in ways you probably can’t even imagine. This is no bullshit. He-”

“Laura?”

They jumped guiltily at the sound of another voice. She turned and spotted Joe McDonald approaching them from the next row over. “Hi, Joe,” she called, trying to sound normal and glad to see him.

“Remember what I told you,” Griff said in an undertone, then he walked quickly away.

Forcing herself to move, Laura headed off the marketing head, who was looking curiously after Griff’s tall figure as he wove between the rows of cars. “Who was that?”

“Someone cutting across our parking lot. Lucky for me. He saw me lugging the box with the Select model in it and offered to carry it for me.”

“Where was the guard at the door?”

“He wasn’t there when I came through, and I didn’t want to wait.” Without it being obvious, she steered Joe toward the entrance. “I’m eager to get the model home and show Foster.”

“So tonight’s the big night?”

“It is. Wish me luck.”

As they approached the entrance, she glanced casually over her shoulder. Griff Burkett had disappeared.